Part Seven – Rescue Man
The lines of children were not exactly straight as they streamed out of the brick building, escorted at front and back by teachers. The more excitable ones chattered, pointing at the big red Engine parked in the school bus lane. The teachers vainly tried to keep their charges in single file, but that was a losing battle as each successive classroom emerged into the warm, sunny spring morning. The little girls twirled their dresses in the sunlight, while the boys played soccer with an imaginary ball.
The school's principal looked on in dismay, sending nervous side glances toward Captain Stanley as if expecting criticism for the seven-and-eight-year-olds' lack of discipline. Cap just watched the kids, smiling, as they played, not at all concerned with the controlled chaos of the fire and evacuation drill. The assistant principal darted back and forth, stressed and sweaty, collecting attendance sheets from the teachers, attesting that all of their respective students were accounted for.
Evvy gathered the sheets and clipped them onto the board. The children were charming, even the obviously rotten ones, but she could not imagine spending more than an hour with them. By the time the evacuation drill was coming to an end, she was ready to go. By the looks of them, Chet, Marco, and Mike were long past the novelty of elementary school fire drill assessments. They didn't even disembark from the Engine. Chet was sitting with his head tilted back, helmet over his face. He was probably asleep.
The school bell rang, signaling the all-clear. The classrooms had been evacuated smoothly, and all children and staff were accounted for at their various meet-up points. She looked at her watch. They had even scored well on the efficiency rating. The principal could probably relax. Cap shook the man's hand and put his helmet on. A kindergarten class waved goodbye to him as they filed reluctantly back into the school.
Evvy felt a tug on the hem of her open turnout. She looked down to see three brown faces: two boys and a girl. They stood very close and looked up at her as if she were four stories tall. "May I help you?" she asked.
"See, I told you she was a girl," one boy, who was wearing gold wire-rimmed glasses, said to his companions. His seriousness and his smoothly shaped Afro reminded her of a miniature Dr. Morton, and she smothered a laugh.
"Nuh-uh," said the other boy, crossing his arms over his striped shirt, "there's no such thing as a firegirl." Unimpressed, he and his friend nodded to each other as if that settled the matter.
The little girl asked shyly, "Are you really a fireman?"
"I sure am . . " Evvy started to say, but Glasses Boy interrupted Evvy's reply. "She can't be a fireman. She's a girl."
Evvy sank into a crouch and pulled her turnout coat aside with one hand. "Well, since I fight fires, I'm called a 'firefighter,'" she corrected, tapping her name tag. "I ride on this Engine."
Glasses Boy shook his head. "Firemen have to be really strong to put out fires and carry people. Do you do that?" It was a challenge.
"I do. They teach you all about how to do stuff like that in Fireman School," Evvy said. She had a feeling she was not going to change his or his friend's mind anytime soon, since these kids looked to be about third grade and therefore knew everything about everything already.
The little girl squinted up at Evvy. "Are there a lot of firefighters like you?"
"You mean women?" Evvy responded. "There are a few, but I don't work at the same fire station as any of them."
"Yeah, but, like you." The little girl rubbed a forefinger across the brown skin on the back of her own hand.
Ah, you mean black women. Nope, I'm it for the foreseeable future, Evvy thought. What she said was, "Not right now, but there will be more soon. Maybe you'll be a firefighter when you get a little bit older. If you work hard and stay in school and, um, . . .eat right," she felt compelled to add for some unknown reason.
"Regina's gonna be a firegirl. Regina's gonna be a firegirl," the boy with the glasses sing-songed, and his friend joined in as they walked away. "Nuh-uh," protested Regina as she ran to catch up, "I'm gonna be a nurse!"
Evvy stood, turned, and met Cap's eye. He shrugged with his hands in his trouser pockets. "You never know," he said.
She looked back toward the retreating children. "And that is why my mother does not have any grandkids."
The HT in Cap's hand crackled to life. "Engine 51, what's your status?"
"Engine 51, available," Cap said, and Dispatch directed him to stand by. It was a kitchen fire at the federal courthouse. Regina was looking back toward Evvy as she swung up onto the Engine and the siren came to life.
People had already started streaming out of the courthouse when Engine 51 arrived, joining Ladder 116. The fire was not visible from the outside yet. Cap gave some precautionary orders, had Chet, Marco, and Evvy pull lines. The courthouse was solidly constructed and regularly inspected to comply with federal building and fire codes. There shouldn't be any surprises.
The chief Court Security Officer jogged up, with a white haired middle-aged lady puffing along behind him. "You're in charge?" he asked. Captain Stanley introduced himself and put out his hand. "I'm CSO Charlie Owens, and this is Florence Lovitz, courtroom clerk for one of our trial judges. We have one person in the judge's chambers who's going to need help evacuating. Her name's Lisa Webber. She's on the eighth floor, Room 806."
"Is she injured?" Cap asked.
"No, just very, very pregnant." The CSO handed Cap a binder containing floor by floor plans, already open to the eighth floor page. "Thought you might need this."
"Good man," Cap said, and called Evvy over. "Evvy, we've got a pregnant lady on the eighth floor who needs an escort getting down to ground level." He showed her the path from the stairwell to the office, since all of the elevators were disabled per building fire regulations. "She's not hurt, and you should have clear passage down the north stairwell."
Mrs. Lovitz protested, "Oh, you're not going to send this young lady into that building are you? It's much too dangerous."
"That's her job, ma'am," Cap answered gently, adding, "we've got this from here," and waited until he had turned fully around to face Evvy before rolling his eyes. "Evvy, this building's under federal jurisdiction, and the U.S. Marshals are required to do a door-to-door to make sure everyone's out before letting anyone back in. You've got plenty of time, so don't try to rush the civilian." He handed her the HT. "The fire's confined right now to the second floor cafeteria and some adjacent storage rooms, and it's on the east side, but I want you in communication in case anything changes."
"Ten-four, Cap." She took another glance at the floor plan, and headed for the front entrance. It was tempting to take the stairs two at a time, but eight floors, each with a landing halfway, was a lot, so she paced herself. The occupants from the ninth and tenth floors were just now passing her going down, and she kept to the right side of the stairwell. At the eighth floor, she opened the door to an empty hallway and quickly found room 806.
Mrs. Webber was sitting in a wing chair behind the closed door, alone, looking nervous. "Mrs. Webber, I'm Evvy Wayfair, LA County Fire Department. I'm here to escort you down. Are you hurt anywhere?"
The woman stood with tremendous effort and, yep, she was about as pregnant as she could possibly get. She cradled her protruding belly with her hand and said, "No, I'm okay."
"Now, there's nothing to worry about, Mrs. Webber. We're just going to take it slow and easy down the stairs. The fire is being contained and it's not anywhere close to us, so just relax."
"Call me Lisa, please," said Mrs. Webber, slinging her long purse strap diagonally over her shoulder. "I don't think I'll be coming back here today, or for a long time," she continued as they headed to the stairwell. "I'm only a week away from my due date anyway."
"Yeah, going home and putting your feet up is probably a good plan," Evvy said, maneuvering Lisa to the handrail. They trudged down the stairs in silence, Lisa moving as fast as her bulk would allow, which was glacial, shuffling sideways. She rested for a moment on every landing, sometimes putting a hand to her side as if she had a stitch.
At the sixth floor, Lisa paused a bit longer than she had before, and put a hand on the small of her back. Evvy felt her heart drop. "Lisa," she asked carefully, hoping the answer would be a firm no, "are you having contractions?" Please say no . . . please say no.
The brief silence killed that hope. "I . . . I'm not sure," Lisa said faintly. "This is my first baby, so I'm not sure what labour feels like, but, this might be it."
Evvy checked her watch, then raised the HT. "HT 51 to Engine 51," she said. She could hear the dread in Cap's voice when he responded. Summoning the spirits of Roy and John, and trying to match the steady, even tone they used when things were threatening to go south and they were trying to avoid alarming the patient, she said, "Engine 51, the evacuee appears to be experiencing the early stages of labour. Contractions are about," she watched Lisa's face tense up again and checked her watch, "four and a half minutes apart. Mom is able to speak through them and can still walk."
"HT 51, are you able to continue to the ground exit?"
"That's affirmative, Cap."
"Ten-four, HT 51, I'll have Squad 51 respond." She listened to the reassuring conversation between Cap and Dispatch, and the familiar tones summoning Squad 51. All she had to do now was keep poor Mrs. Webber calm and get her down five more flights to Roy and John.
At the third floor landing, Lisa's knees began to buckle. "Mrs. Webber, are you okay?" Evvy asked, steadying her. She looked over the rail at the vertical distance. So close.
Lisa shook her head, her breaths coming quick and shallow. "It's beginning to hurt. It's like being squeezed by a python . . ."
Control the scene. Evvy put her hands on Lisa's shoulders and made direct eye contact. "Lisa," she said evenly, "the paramedics are going to be waiting for you outside to take you to the hospital by ambulance. We're almost there. You're almost there. I've got you. Can you breathe with me?" Lisa nodded, and made an effort to match Evvy's slow, steady respirations. Evvy wondered how much of this was labour, and how much was panic about being in labour. When Lisa was calmer, she gave a tentative smile. "Do you think you can continue?" Evvy asked.
Lisa took another deep, slow breath, then said wanly, "Okay, I'm ready." They took the stairs even more slowly, Evvy bearing most of Lisa's considerable weight. "I bet you didn't think you'd be delivering a baby in a courthouse stairwell today, did you?" Lisa half-laughed.
"No," Evvy allowed, "and you're not going to be doing that either." They rounded the last landing. "Just a few more steps."
"Maybe we'll . . name the baby. . after you, . . if it's a girl."
"Your husband might have some thoughts about that," Evvy answered.
"This is all his fault," Lisa moaned. "He doesn't get a vote."
"Well, in that case, since I'm named after my grandfather, it'll work either way."
By the time Evvy pushed the bar to open the emergency door and guided her trembling charge out into the sunlight, the fire was contained, the Squad was pulling up, and both she and Lisa were drenched in sweat. Lisa was exhausted from the effort and no longer able to talk during contractions, but soldiered through. If she had spent the breaths between contractions cursing out her husband for putting her in this predicament, Evvy would never tell. She handed Lisa off to Roy with a sigh of relief and headed back toward Cap for her next task.
When the Squad returned to the station from transporting Mrs. Webber to Rampart, Chet started in on Evvy. "Hey, Evvy's first solo rescue–how's the patient?" he asked.
"Oh, I'd say another five minutes, and Evvy would have been delivering that baby in the stairwell and wrapping it up in her turnout," John laughed, tongue firmly in cheek.
"Mom was barely even dilated," Roy said, nudging John with his elbow. "She's still got a long night ahead of her, since this is her first baby. They almost always take a long time."
"Still, pretty exciting, Gumby," John needled.
Evvy gave an eye roll worthy of Captain Stanley. "Right. I walked a lady down some stairs. Give me a medal. 'Course, if you'd been there, Pretty, you'd have rappelled down the stairwell from the eighth floor with Mrs. Webber on your back, after starting an IV and defibrillating her twice, and delivered the baby in mid-air between floors."
"True," Marco said. "And then he'd break his leg. Again."
"Someone sounds jealous," John sniffed. "All of you are jealous."
Evvy felt pretty good when she hit her bunk that night. That good feeling lasted until she was blasted out of slumber at two-thirty by the station's tones, and before she was fully awake, she was snapping the suspenders of her bunker pants into place and heading for the Engine. She registered that it was a boat accident, and wondered who the heck would be out on the water in the middle of the night.
The Engine and Squad pulled up to a rocky outcropping to find a deputy peering over the side. A front had moved in, and the night was now overcast and windy, with an annoying, pissy drizzle, and the small boat was a just a dark smudge bobbing in the choppy waves. The deputy sidled up to Cap and pointed to a teenager huddled, shivering, in the back seat of his patrol car. "Bunch of kids racing up and down in a boat. They got too close and ran aground, took some damage. This genius and his buddy jumped overboard to swim to shore. The buddy made it to the rocks below, but couldn't make the climb up."
"What about the ones still on the boat? Any injuries?"
"He said no. Other than these two, there's four others on board. Of course there's alcohol involved, so who knows what condition they're in." The deputy flicked a glance toward the young man. "By the look of that one, they've probably been smoking some pot, too."
Cap grimaced and contacted Dispatch to request a rescue boat. Roy and John pulled out their medical gear, while Marco, Chet, and Evvy readied the Stokes and ropes to haul the victim up the cliff. Cap used the megaphone to get the attention of the people on the boat. There was no movement on board, until a head popped up and yelled back, "We've got a fire in the engine!"
Everybody moved double time. The rescue boat's ETA was reported at fifteen minutes. And it was way too dangerous for the passengers to jump overboard; they'd maim themselves on the rocks in the shallows. Cap called for the gun. They would shoot over a guide rope and evacuate the boat that way. Marco took aim at a strut and fired. The wire and its accompanying rope landed, a bullseye. The paramedics fastened themselves into their safety gear and started to hand-over-hand down the sloped line, John going first. Chet, Stoker, and Evvy prepared the Stokes to retrieve the stranded boater on the rocky ledge below in the event that he was not able to move under his own power.
John had just reached the boat when its engine exploded. Clipped to the safety line, he swung wildly, while the panicked teenagers jumped overboard. Roy, having no choice, flipped off his helmet, slid out of his turnout coat, and jumped into the freezing water. John unclipped himself and landed with a thud on the deck. He ran to grab the fire extinguisher.
Cap called Stoker and Marco over to help retrieve the hysterical teenagers from the water. Chet set himself as anchor as Evvy rappelled down the cliff–something she'd much rather have done in daylight, to be honest–for a grab and go. She forced herself to go slowly and smoothly, placing her feet deliberately before pushing off again. It was a short drop, but the wind and the rain made the rope difficult to manage.
The boy at the bottom was moaning in fear, only his upper body resting on the rocks, his legs dangling in the water. He was shivering with cold The waves were pretty violent now, splashing over him with regularity, and she was surprised he had held on this long. Evvy knelt on the flooded, uneven surface and touched his shoulder. "Are you hurt anywhere?" she asked, beginning to wrap the safety belt around his thin torso.
"No," the boy said, in a scared voice. He could not have been more than sixteen, way too young to be partying on a boat in the middle of the night without chaperones.
Well that would make it easier, since they wouldn't need the Stokes. "All right, I'm going to put this belt around you and clip you to this rope. My friend up top there will pull us up. I'll be right here behind you. All you have to do is relax and hold on with both hands. Can you do that for me?" He nodded, eyes screwed tightly shut. She helped him to his feet and checked his belt one more time. She patted him reassuringly on the leg and unclipped herself to re-position her line more securely for the climb up. As she grasped the rope to clip back on, a wave broke over them, reaching up to her shoulder as she knelt. She wasn't prepared for the kid's terrified reaction. He kicked out sharply, as if jolting himself out of sleep, and caught her square in the chest. She fell over into the water. Her helmet scraped the rocks but, miraculously, did not come off. She went under.
She heard the distinctive "glug" sound as the water entered her ears, and then her world went silent and black. She fought against the instinctive urge to draw a breath.
She felt the weight of her turnout gear pulling her down, gave herself a few precious seconds to orient herself, and summoned everything she had to push herself upward. It was like moving the world. Her head broke the surface, and she struggled forward against the waterlogged layers, knowing that, if she could just keep calm, the air trapped in her clothing would help her float. She reached out blindly and kicked with her ungainly rubber boots until her hand scraped the rocks. She could hear Chet calling her name urgently from above. "I'm okay," she coughed. "I'm okay." She pulled herself back up onto the rocky ledge and looked up at the figure being hauled to safety. She let herself think some uncharitable thoughts about teenagers while she retched up dirty, diesel-flavoured water.
By the time the rope came back down for her, she had reigned in her attitude. It was a good thing that Chet was as strong as he was, because the sopping turnout gear must have added a good twenty pounds of weight to her already not-tiny frame. He eyed her when she reached the top. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, shivering as the cold water dripped down her neck. "Thanks." They trudged over to where the teenagers, some still crying but all essentially unharmed, were being loaded into three patrol cars for delivery back to their homes. The whole 51 crew looked miserable and uncomfortable: John with a small gash on his forehead, Roy as soaked as she was, and Marco and Stoker hunkered down in their otherwise dry coats.
Cap looked her up and down. "Decided to go for a swim?" he asked mildly.
She decided to take a chance and determine whether this was sarcastic Cap or about-to-dress-you-down Cap. "Us island girls, can't resist the water."
He gave a short nod, mouth a thin line. "Well, next time, maybe not in your full turnout gear," he advised. In-between Cap, then. He followed her accusing gaze to Roy, whose bunker pants were just as sopping as hers. "Roy, at least, had the sense to take off his coat before jumping in," Cap said.
What she thought was, Well, you take two feet straight to the boobs and see if you can stay upright. What she said was, "Yes, Cap."
As Cap walked away, John snorted softly. "Shut up, John," Evvy muttered, "at least I didn't kiss the deck with my whole face." She turned and climbed with some effort into her customary seat on the Engine.
Back at the station, she squelched across the bay, leaving a wet trail all the way to the locker room, and undressed, hanging her still-sodden coat and pants in the shower to drip. She avoided looking in the mirror, already knowing that the cold ocean water hadn't done her hair any favours. Feeling a little depressed, she changed into her day uniform, grabbed the mop, and sopped up the puddles. Then she snagged her trashy romance novel out of her locker and headed for the kitchen table. It was already close to five o'clock. No sense in going back to bed now. The guys bustled around her, accurately reading her mood. A few moments later, a steaming cup of tea appeared at her elbow. She looked up and met Roy's sympathetic smile.
"Sometimes it goes like that," he said. "Not all rescues are perfect."
She put her book face down on the table. "Maybe I should re-think my ambitions," she answered. "Maybe rescue isn't for me."
He shook his head, his hair still damp. "I guess at the end of the day, all that matters is that the citizens get to go home in one piece. Even if it isn't pretty."
"Are you telling me to get over myself?"
He thought about it for a moment, then said the most big-brother thing possible. "Yeah."
Roy hadn't thought that Evvy would show up at the Memorial Day barbeque. Well, he guessed Marco was now five bucks richer on this bet. Aside from the holiday party, she'd managed to avoid every informal gathering, despite her increasing opportunities and willingness to cover shifts at other stations. He watched her unfold herself from her improbably neon-yellow VW Bug and caught himself mid-judgment–her vehicle was no more ridiculous than his: a chick-magnet Porsche driven by a married man with two school-age kids. She slipped on a pair of shades and sauntered over to where he and John waited for the softball game to be organized. Her pink tank top and denim short- shorts attracted some attention. Right on schedule, the catcalls began.
"Hey," she greeted when she reached the two paramedics. "Did I miss the game?"
Roy shook his head. "No, they're still trying to organize teams. Some of the stations have some pretty intense rivalries." She nodded. John was looking over toward the knot of players, frowning. "Say, I didn't think you'd show up today. You don't usually come to these things."
She shrugged. "Yeah, but Marco promised he would get his mom to make a batch of enchiladas especially for me if I came."
Roy sent a dark look across the field toward Marco. "Oh, he did, did he."
Evvy looked down at her sneakers. "You know, I-I wanted to talk to you guys about something . . ." She stopped when a loud, hearty voice rang out behind her.
"Gage, I hope you're ready to go down with your ship, because we are going to crush you like a bug." The big, dark-haired guy walked past Evvy and knocked John on the shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, Mitchelson, don't expect a replay of last year's game. None of our guys are nursing any injuries this year." John answered, a note of competition in his voice.
Whatever Mitchelson was going to say seemed to be forgotten as he turned and saw Evvy. "Hey," he laughed, "it's PJ Bunny! How's it going, PJ?" Still laughing, he protruded his front teeth over his lip and scrunched up his nose like a rabbit.
"What did you say?" John asked incredulously, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Mitchelson smirked. "Careful, Gage, she'll have your job next if you're not careful. And you know how these bunnies multiply. The Department will be full of them before you know it."
John launched himself at Mitchelson, his face livid. Evvy went for John's forearm as he drew his fist back for a punch. She completely underestimated the strength of the wiry paramedic and he lifted her off the ground with his momentum. He staggered as her weight threw him off balance. Roy took the opportunity to push Mitchelson backward, out of Gage's wingspan, and with perhaps slightly more force than the rescue needed. "You think that's funny, huh, Tim?" John shouted. "Why don't you come back over here and say that one more time!"
As Tim yelled back that Gage was crazy and nobody could take a joke anymore, Roy called over to Evvy. "Can you take him for a walk, get him to cool down?" He shoved Tim in the other direction, his own expression angry and dark.
John allowed Evvy to tug him toward the metal bleachers at the edge of the grassy area used as a picnic ground. His arm was rigid under her hand, and he took deep breaths to calm himself. "Unbelievable," he kept muttering as he paced, "absolutely unbelievable." Evvy sat on the second row, and after a moment, John joined her, still fuming and tense.
"That really bothered you, huh," she observed mildly.
He glared at her. "Yes, it bothered me. Who the hell does he–that guy is unbelievable! Of course I'm bothered. I don't understand why you're so . . . unbothered!"
She tilted her head. "Do you think that's the first time I've heard the 'PJ Bunny' nickname, or that I don't know what it means? If I were a guy, and I popped off every time some clown called me an offensive name, you know I'd be labeled a hothead, or a troublemaker. And that's if I were a guy, John."
John leaned forward and dangled his hands between his knees. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he allowed. "But you still should have let me punch him. For my own peace of mind."
"You know," Evvy said, "you're not always going to be around to fight my battles for me. There's always going to be some, well, some jerk like that to push my buttons." She laid a hand on his knee. "A very smart and very handsome friend once told me that it will get better, but it isn't ever going to be good." John smiled faintly in recognition and looked at the ground. "Most guys I work with now don't make any trouble for me. I go to work, do my job, and nobody goes out of their way to try to get me to quit. It's better. There's always going to be idiots like that Tim guy, and that's the 'not-good' part, but then there's guys like, you know, Roy who step in and set them straight."
"Roy?!" John exclaimed, offended. "What am I chopped liver? Roy? He didn't do anything!" His outrage made her laugh.
"And anyway, Tim's not completely wrong." At John's look, she gave a small smile. "I asked Cap not to say anything until I had a chance to tell you myself. I'm transferring out of 51s. Shift after next will be my last."
For a second, John was too stunned to say anything. And then, shaking his head like it was full of bees: "Wait, what? Why? What?"
She let him stutter a bit longer, then said, "I'm transferring to 86s. One of the lineman on B Shift is getting invalided out and Cap said he thinks it's a good fit for me. He says I'm ready. I'm the seventh man at 51, John. I can't wait forever for Chet to pass his engineer exam and get promoted. And," she couldn't contain a flash of excitement, "I got accepted to Advanced Rescue. John, they're going to let me train as a Rescue Man."
John's face cleared like the sky after a storm. "A Rescue Man–that's fantastic, Evvy! Does that mean you'll–"
"I am not applying to the paramedic program, John, so don't start."
He grinned at her. "Not yet, but . . ." He threw an arm around her shoulder in congratulation and squeezed. She did a little seat dance. "A Rescue Man," he said, still grinning. "Now you're going to be dangling out of 'copters and climbing sixty-foot towers."
"My mom is going to kill me," Evvy said.
Roy's call got their attention. The Department softball game was about to begin. "You playing?" John asked as they stood and headed toward the diamond.
"Nah, I'm Station 51's mascot and cheerleader." She waved imaginary pom poms. "You?" John told her he had second base this year. Evvy squinted as she counted the players. "So, that Tim guy is on the opposite team?"
"Yeah," John said, scowling.
"Hm. You know," she mused, "it would not upset me even a little bit if he got an elbow to the head as he rounded the bases."
John gave her a squint and a smirk. "You're a bad influence on me, Gumby."
"Right on, Pretty," Evvy answered. "Right on."
